


occasionally unconventional

by shatteredhourglass



Series: Winterhawk Bingo Again [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Moon Knight (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aromantic Bucky Barnes, Established Clint Barton/Marc Spector, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Penetrative Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Clint Barton, but like. actual friends with benefits, genital piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26913982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredhourglass/pseuds/shatteredhourglass
Summary: “What if you propositioned someone you already knew?” Clint asks. “Like a teammate.”“Most of ‘em, I’d rather kill them than have sex with them,” Bucky replies. “And no, not Steve. If you even try to suggest that I’ll throw you off this roof right now.”“I wasn’t talking about Steve.”
Relationships: Clint Barton/Marc Spector, James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Winterhawk Bingo Again [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963777
Comments: 32
Kudos: 149
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo Round Two





	occasionally unconventional

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Clint and Bucky have sex, but strictly as friends, and Clint is in a relationship with Marc. All parties know and consent to this. 
> 
> For trans folks; read the tags in case of squicks. I avoid descriptive words for Clint's junk.
> 
> Winterhawk Bingo Square: Genital Piercings

They're sitting on Clint's rooftop when the subject arises.

It’s one of those summer days where the air feels too stifling to be inside. Clint’s apartment doesn’t have a working air conditioner anyway, so they’ve fled up here with a couple of six-packs that’ve already disappeared. Clint’s looking pretty lucid, so Bucky assumes he’s the one that’s drank most of them, although he’s having trouble remembering the act.

“Oh man,” Clint says. “I should’ve put on sunscreen, huh.”

“Probably,” Bucky answers noncommittally. He’d offered to share the bottle in his bag but Clint had declined, so it’s his own fault.

Clint tips his head towards Bucky. His hair’s plastered to his face with sweat but he doesn’t look red enough for it to be a serious issue; even if it is, Bucky’s just going to laugh at him and then help with the aloe vera. “Can super soldiers get sunburned?”

“Don’t think so.”

They're both sprawled out in deck chairs, far away enough that when Clint gestures for a bottle of water, Bucky has to throw it to him. It's hot enough that he can feel his legs cooking in his jeans, and Clint peeled off his shirt a while ago. Bucky’s not a fan of spontaneous nudity himself - he _can_ appreciate Clint’s body though, the lean lines of muscle and skin, the red spider tattooed on his hip.

“Can you catch _anything_? Like, does the serum only protect you from colds and stuff or are you safe from STDs too?”

“Nosy fucker,” Bucky says, which doesn’t deter Clint in the slightest. He’s grinning now, the asshole. “I can’t catch a goddamn STD, no. Not that I’ve gotten laid in the last seventy years anyway.”

“Not once? Jeez. That’s rough, buddy.”

“I miss it, but I mean,” Bucky says, waving a hand in the air. Normally he wouldn’t be discussing this with _anyone_ , but he’s had a few and Clint’s always been easy to talk to, even when Bucky was still struggling to shake off Hydra’s influence. “I don’t want a relationship. I _know_ I don’t want that, even if Steve makes sad faces about it and tells me he always thought about our kids growing up together.”

“If you just want to get laid, Tinder’s always an option,” Clint responds. “Or Grindr. Y’know, whatever floats your boat.”

“Nah. Too many risks with that shit. God knows I’d probably end up accidentally fucking a Hydra goon that wants to kidnap me or worse, someone who acts weird about the metal arm. Still can’t get over that time someone asked me to stick it up their ass on the news.”

“I mean, I’d let you put that hand up my ass too,” Clint reasons, smirking. Bucky throws his boot at him. “Hey! Fuck you, that was a compliment. It’s a sexy piece of machinery.”

“I hate you,” Bucky says, slouching back into his seat.

They sit there in comfortable silence for a while.

It gives Bucky a moment to reflect on how his lack of an active sex life has affected him. Not that badly, really. There are worse fates than not getting laid on the regular. It doesn’t mean that it isn’t annoying though, and it’d be nice to touch a real person again instead of his increasingly large stash of toys. (It’s getting harder to hide those from Steve, who means well but is horrifically nosy when it comes to Bucky.)

“What if you propositioned someone you already knew?” Clint asks. “Like a teammate.”

“Most of ‘em, I’d rather kill them than have sex with them,” Bucky replies. “And no, not Steve. If you even _try_ to suggest that I’ll throw you off this roof right now.”

“I wasn’t talking about Steve.”

“Not Natasha either,” Bucky says. It’s… weird with Natasha right now. There’s a lot going on in her life and they never _quite_ got back to normal since she came back from the dead. Not that he’d be ballsy enough to ask her for no-strings-attached sex anyway.

“I didn’t _mean_ you should sleep with Natasha,” Clint says, sounding so exasperated that Bucky lifts his head to look at him properly. “Are you always this dense when people try to proposition you?”

“Fuck off.” Oh. He’s _offering_. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Clint says, stretching his legs out. “Only if you want to, though.”

Bucky’s surprised to find that he _does_ want to. Clint’s mind-numbingly attractive in a disastrous sort of way, he doesn’t have any specific baggage related to the Winter Soldier, they’re already more comfortable with each other than Bucky is with a lot of people he’s known longer. It actually sounds _nice_ , and certainly miles better than any of his other options.

But.

"Don't you have a boyfriend?"

"Yeah," Clint says absently. "Kind of."

"I don't think I want to know," Bucky says. What the hell’s a _kind of_ boyfriend?

Clint waves the hand with the half-empty bottle of water in it in a dismissive gesture. He ends up tipping some of the contents on himself, which doesn’t do a lot for Bucky’s concentration. "It gets complicated with the whole superhero thing, and then the whole Avenger-Vigilante thing, and then the dissociative identity stuff on top of that. It's a little different from everybody else's idea of dating. We're working on it as we go along."

"Fair enough," Bucky says. Honestly, he doesn't even understand typical dating. ”Gotta find what works, right?”

“Right,” Clint agrees. “He’s fine with me having sex with other people. We’ve talked about it before because of Steven and Marlene, there’s no problem. You’re not gonna get your ass kicked by a guy in a cape.”

“What, you don’t think I’d put up a good fight?”

“Maybe at a distance,” Clint says. “You’d be in trouble if he got close enough for hand-to-hand, though. He fights dirty.”

“Good thing I’m not planning on fighting him, then,” Bucky says. "Okay."

“Okay?”

“I’m into it,” Bucky admits. “Just… give me a couple of days to get used to the idea?”

“Sure,” Clint says. “Whenever you’re ready. You want to get some more beers while you’re daydreaming about my hot bod?”

Bucky daydreams about it a _lot_ over the next week, if he’s honest with himself, and then he swiftly runs out of reasons to put it off. (He doesn’t really want to put it off, anyway.)

When Clint answers the door, he’s wearing a sweater with the Hulk’s face printed on them and a single white sock that’s only barely hanging onto his foot. Fuck knows what’s happened to his hair. He looks a little haphazard in the way he always does, but his lips quirk up into a smile when he sees Bucky standing there.

“Wow,” Bucky says.

“Got all dolled up just for you, baby,” Clint drawls, stepping out of the doorway so he can enter. “Handjob is twenty bucks, blowjobs are fifty, anal is two hundred with cash up-front, leave it in the tin by the door.”

“I hope you’re kidding,” Bucky says, dropping his jacket on the back of Clint’s couch.

“Course I am,” Clint says. “I’m worth at _least_ three times that. You want a drink or do you want to get right to it?”

There's no way he remembered to get groceries this week. “Do you _have_ anything to drink?"

“I mean. The dog’s water bowl is right there.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Bucky says with a sigh. “You’re the worst host ever, Barton, y’know that?”

“Stop pretending you have standards, you’re making me feel bad. Right this way,” Clint says, already walking backwards up the stairs. It backfires when he nearly trips over the tennis ball sitting on one of the steps, and Bucky stifles a snort. Clint’s not wearing underwear.

“What, you couldn’t even be bothered to clean up before I got here?”

“I got… distracted,” Clint says.

“Distracted with what,” Bucky says, and then he notices the lube and a green dildo with some rather _interesting_ ridges on it. “Oh.”

“Just means I’m already warmed up for you,” Clint says with a shrug.

“Confident, aren’t you,” Bucky mutters as he crouches down to unlace his boots. In his peripherals he sees Clint launch the dildo in the direction of the bathroom, but he doesn’t see where it lands. Hopefully it’s not just rolling around on the floor - Clint _is_ a slob, though. You never know.

“You okay with kissing?”

“I guess,” Bucky says, glancing up at where Clint’s sat on the bed, knees spread slightly. He hasn’t really thought much about it. There’s a bandaid on Clint’s thigh. “Doesn’t matter to me either way.”

“Cool,” Clint says. “C’mere, then.”

He pats the spot next to him and Bucky sits down obediently.

Bucky’s not sure what to expect here, really. There’s no protocol for your already-taken friend offering to fuck you as a favour. He’s pretty sure this isn’t normal by even twenty-first century standards, although he thought the same thing about Dance Dance Revolution and that turned out to be a favourite of a lot of people.

“You’re sure this is alright?” he ends up asking.

“Don’t get all angsty over something that’s consensual for everyone involved,” Clint says. “Save it for Steve.”

It’s an asshole thing to say, but it’s what makes him feel more comfortable about this. It’s just sex with Clint. He knows Clint, and he _trusts_ Clint, and if this makes the guy shut up for more than five seconds it’ll be worth it even if the sex is mediocre.

Then the first touch of Clint's mouth to his makes Bucky feel like he's going to come in his pants, and the swipe of tongue that follows it is even worse. It’s only now Bucky’s realizing how much sexual tension has been building inside him, if he’s having this reaction. (He might be a little touch starved, too.) Clint’s _good_ at this, taking charge without being too pushy, sitting himself in Bucky’s lap like it’s his territory and putting just enough pressure down that Bucky’s dick takes notice from the confines of his pants.

Bucky’s not sure where to put his hands.

_Clint’s_ fingers are creeping under his shirt. Bucky runs through a quick list of what he knows Clint doesn’t like - hands near his ears, mostly, and grabby hands near his chest - so he settles for resting his on Clint’s broad shoulders, digging his fingertips in a little when Clint bites his lip.

They’re here to get off, not to stare into each others’ eyes, so Bucky’s shirt and pants get thrown off pretty quickly. Peeling Clint’s sock off is more of an effort, but Bucky’s not willing to have sex with the sock still on.

“What do you-” Bucky goes to ask and then breaks off as he hears the windowsill rattle. He goes for his gun immediately but Clint catches his wrist just as a caped figure slips inside. There’s a chair in the corner that, now he’s looking for it, might’ve been put there on purpose.

“Hey, babe,” Clint greets, like this is a _normal_ situation, and then he goes back to grinding on Bucky’s clothed dick.

“I-” Bucky says, doesn’t finish that thought either because Clint flicks a nipple and it sends a shock through him.

"He likes to watch," Clint says as his teeth graze Bucky's earlobe and Bucky can't stop himself from looking through his eyelashes at the white-clad figure in the corner, ominous and inescapable. 

"I don't remember agreeing to a threesome," Bucky says. That's not to say that Clint's boyfriend isn't _ho_ _t,_ he's just... unexpected. 

"It's not a threesome. He’s just overprotective. He's here to make sure there's no foul play," Clint supplies, and then lowers his voice. "He thinks that he needs to be there to punch every person who says or does something vaguely transphobic, even though I can take care of myself. It’s cute."

“Right,” Bucky says, not entirely convinced. “I’m not gonna - I don’t care about all that. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Clint says. Grins. “Would’ve shot you off a roof if you were.”

“Like you even could,” Bucky retorts.

Jerk. Bucky’s been content to let Clint take the lead so far, but he can’t expect him to do all the work. Bucky raises an eyebrow as he shifts his hands, waits for Clint to nod at him before he does anything more than that.

"You're sure I'm not going to get a dart thrown at me," Bucky murmurs as he rolls them over, his hand sliding up the inside of Clint's thigh. 

"Not if you keep going the way you're going," Clint says, a little breathy. ”C’mon, get on with it.”

Bucky takes that as the permission it is and lets his fingertips brush over heated skin, first featherlight and then firmer when Clint twitches. He’s using his right hand, so he feels the slick texture of the lube before he uses his left hand to push up the hem of Clint’s sweater.

“Did you get off before I got here?” It’s an idle sort of curiosity that strikes him, and he’s made bold by the knowledge that Clint doesn’t have a lot of boundaries.

“Maybe,” Clint replies. “You want to move that hand just in case I didn’t?”

Bucky nudges Clint’s knees a little wider and then rubs his thumb in a slow circle, keeps his eyes on Clint's face. “What do you like?”

“Everything. I’ll let you know if you do anything I don’t.”

Bucky’s got no doubt that he will, so he slides two fingers in and curls them, noting the way Clint makes a small noise in the back of his throat and pushes back against the penetration. Despite the size of that dildo, his fingers are still being squeezed tight and it's _hot_ , unbelievably so, made worse by Clint trying to goad him into going deeper and harder. Bucky's dick is aching just listening to the nearly-inaudible noises escaping him, watching Clint bite his lip like he's trying not to let on how good it feels.

In the back of his mind he’s still keeping tabs on Moon Knight, but there’s been no movement from that end of the room at all.

Just watching.

He better not fuck this up.

“Third finger?”

“Absolutely,” Clint says, sounding unsteady. “I thought you were supposed to be some kind of a sex god, Barnes. C’mon. Show me those moves.”

“Should’ve known you’d find a way to turn this into a contest,” Bucky mutters. He’s rising to the bait nonetheless, and can’t quite stop himself from smirking when he starts moving his fingers with a little more purpose, shifts so he can get his mouth in on the action as well.

Clint’s hiccuping gasp is all the encouragement he needs. It’s electrifying, having this much control over someone else’s body, having this much _trust_ , feeling Clint shift his legs wider as Bucky licks at where his fingers are being enveloped in wet heat.

There’s a faint artificial taste that he registers as the lube but it’s not that big of a deal. He’s definitely tasted worse, and it’s worth it for the way Clint’s thighs start trembling as he speeds up his hand, until Clint’s grabbing at his hair and crying out loud enough that Bucky's glad for the soundproofing. He doesn't stop moving his mouth until Clint goes limp, and then it's mostly just to make sure he isn't dead.

“Still feeling cocky?” he asks, licking his lips.

“Fuck you,” Clint says. There’s no venom in it, just a weary kind of satisfaction that makes Bucky feel good for giving it to him. Still got it, apparently.

It also distracts him enough that Clint gets the jump on him and manages to flip them over, still flushed and breathing hard. Bucky lets it happen, watches as Clint strips off his sweater and tosses it in Moon Knight’s direction. He’d look to see what the reaction is there but he’s distracted by Clint’s hands on him, slightly faster in exploring his body than they were before.

"Oh, wow," Clint says when he frees Bucky's dick from the confines of his briefs. "This Hydra regulation?"

"Got it done a few weeks after I got out," Bucky says as he watches Clint's fingers inch closer to the steel barbells on the underside of his cock. "'s it a problem?"

He'd be more self-conscious but there isn't any point; either Clint likes it or he doesn't, and honestly Bucky would be more than happy to go down on him again without any reciprocation required. He _likes_ getting Clint off. There's no disgust on Clint's face though, only interest and what looks like a sliver of delight. 

"Fuck _no_ , it's not a problem," Clint says predictably, eliciting a snort from Bucky. "I mean, I wanted your dick already, but this is hot as hell, Buck. Please let me sit on your bedazzled dong before I die."

"Stop making this stupid, you idiot," Bucky says, smacking Clint's hip. Fucking _bedazzled_. What an idiot.

"No," Clint says primly. ”It’s not good sex unless there’s laughing involved.”

They could probably waste the rest of the night snarking at each other, but then Clint slides down a few inches so he's pressed tight against Bucky's cock - not _inside_ , just grinding on him a little, and somehow it's still the hottest thing he's encountered this century. God. He wishes Clint had propositioned him months ago.

Clint’s fingers wrap around his dick as he sits up, carefully positioning himself. “You good?”

“Get it on with, Barton.”

“Impatience never got anyone anywhere.”

“Says _you_.”

“Okay, fair,” Clint says, and then stops talking abruptly as the head of Bucky’s cock slips in. It’s so abrupt that it's worrying for a split second - only a second, though, and then he’s sinking down like its nothing. He’s even looking a little smug about it. He’s all tight wet heat around Bucky’s dick and it’s a struggle not to beg him to move.

Bucky’s missed this - although in saying that, he’s not sure he’s ever been as comfortable with anyone as he is with Clint. Having sex with your male friends wasn’t exactly smiled upon back in the forties.

“Oh,” Clint says.

“What?”

“I think you’ve ruined me for normal dicks,” Clint answers ruefully. Like it’s some kind of a tragedy even though he’s still moving his hips.

“You’re such a fucking drama queen,” Bucky says, poking him in the stomach. “You keep bragging about your sexual prowess, but I ain’t seeing any of it right now. Just sitting there like a nesting pigeon.”

“A pigeon,” Clint scoffs, and then rolls his hips in a hard, fluid move that makes Bucky’s brain blank out for a moment. His hands go up to touch Clint’s thighs, feel the flex of muscle under his right hand. His left hand’s better for registering the heat of Clint’s skin, an exact number flickering in his head before it disappears under the sensation of having someone ride his dick for the first time in - he can’t think of an exact date.

Bucky braces his knees and thrusts hard and Clint cries out, maybe louder than he’d meant to because he covers his mouth with the back of his hand like that'll help. It’s satisfying and _hot_ and Bucky does it again, and then again until Clint’s starting to squirm again. His skin’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat and he’s starting to lose rhythm so Bucky rolls them over again - albeit not as smoothly as Clint did, but he tries.

They pause for a moment and Bucky’s got to admit Clint’s hopelessly alluring like this, messy-haired and coiled muscle, arching up off the mattress. Apparently he pauses for too long, because Clint makes eye contact, raises an eyebrow. He’s not self-conscious at all; it looks more like he’s purposefully showing off, the cocky asshole.

“I’m not gonna fall in love with you,” Bucky says.

Clint’s lips quirk up into a smile. “Promise?”

The old version of Bucky wouldn’t have been able to fathom something like this. The old version of Bucky was pretty convinced he’d be shoved into a marriage with a random woman his mother had picked out, and if he went back in time and explained it was perfectly fine to sleep with someone you like but don't _like_ and not have it be a big deal, he wouldn’t be believed.

As it is, he’s just grateful that he gets to have Clint Barton in his life.

“I’m gonna-” he says, pulls out and puts his hand to his cock, overwhelmed by the slide of skin on steel, and then he’s coming in long wet stripes on Clint’s abs.

Then he’s got to stop and catch his breath, which doesn’t seem to be a problem because Clint seems more than happy to finish himself off, and Bucky watches the easy way he moves his hands before he shivers and stops.

“Jesus,” Bucky says.

“Dude,” Clint says. “I need a towel. I need a whole new _bed_.”

“I ain’t payin’ for it. That's on you,” Bucky tells him before he rolls to the side and onto his back. His muscles feel loose and he’s sated in a way he hasn’t been for a long time. It feels good. He feels good, energized somehow, and he’s kind of understanding those people who go on about the healing power of good sex.

“That was… not bad,” Clint says, sounding like he’s out of breath.

“Not _bad_?”

“Can’t have you getting too cocky or you won’t put any effort in next time,” Clint tells him. There’s a satisfied smirk edging onto his face and Bucky’s too boneless to be truly indignant about his attitude right now. Fucking Hawkeye, honestly.

“You think you’re getting a next time?”

“I like my chances,” Clint remarks.

Cocky bastard. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky sees the white figure in the corner shift. In all honesty, he’d been half-convinced that Moon Knight had turned into a statue during this entire encounter.

Clint props himself up on one elbow. His expression’s softer than usual, filled with a gentle kind of affection that Bucky’s not used to seeing from him. There’s a tiny flicker of self-consciousness there too, now he’s looking closely. “Hey. This was okay, right?”

“It was great,” Bucky says honestly. “It’s not gonna be weird now, is it?”

“You’re already weird,” Clint answers with a shrug.

Fair enough.

Bucky kicks him in the shin for it anyway, before he rolls off the mattress and onto his feet. He twitches backwards as something soft hits him in the face, scared for a second that he _is_ going to be attacked. Thankfully the projectile turns out to be his discarded pants and not anything particularly dangerous.

“Thanks,” he says, and Clint does fingerguns at him without sitting up.

“You gonna be okay on your own?”

“Fine,” Bucky says. Glances at Moon Knight. “He’s all yours. Enjoy.”

It’s only fair he lets them have some privacy. He’s only vaguely paying attention to the two of them as he tries to find the rest of his clothes - and seriously, how did his sock end up on the ceiling fan? - but he still catches the warmth in Clint’s voice as he talks to his kind-of boyfriend.

When Bucky reaches for the shirt trapped under Clint’s foot, Clint’s reaching up with gentle hands to remove the blank white mask from the Moon Knight suit to reveal the face underneath.

Spector still looks hesitant, and there’s a nasty-looking bruise blooming on his cheek along with dried blood that’s probably not his. Clint doesn’t even give it a second glance - he’s got his own collection of bumps and scars after all, and it doesn’t stop him from dragging Marc down onto the mattress with him to press their foreheads together.

“Hi,” Clint says softly. “Missed you.”

“That why you were fucking Barnes, you spoiled brat? I’m not paying you enough attention?” Spector’s words are dry but there’s a helpless kind of affection underneath it, and he shifts them so he’s not putting all his fully-armoured weight on Clint.

Bucky’s still not _entirely_ sure he’s joking until Clint laughs and presses a kiss to Marc’s stubbled cheeks. “Nope. You’re not. I’m gonna handcuff you to the bed so you can’t go anywhere.”

“I’ll get out."

“Probably. What if I ask nicely, then?”

“...I’ll think about it.”

They’re disgustingly cute.

Bucky’s glad right now that he’s not interested in having any romantic entanglements of his own with Clint, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to truly appreciate how weirdly perfect these two are for each other.

_Kind of boyfriends_ , Bucky’s ass.

He exits the apartment with a spring in his step and a half-formed plan to buy Clint a pizza from that place in Iowa he likes.


End file.
